My Slow Pitch Team

When I arrived in England, I had no idea where to go to play softball. Rather than just sit there, I decided to take the matter into my own hands.

Twice a week, on Tuesday evenings and Sunday afternoons, I would take my equipment to Hyde Park in London. I would create a field using carpet for the bases. Then I lied in wait for the mice to take the bait.

It started small in the beginning. Nicola was the first. She eventually met her husband, Tony, through our games. Even though they have moved to Australia, I am still in touch. Sarah was keen on going to the United States, so she was interested in learning about their games. Another woman, whose name I forget, felt her calling was leading people into the next life. She was a bit unusual, but very nice. She also knew about the game a bit.

On Sundays, we could usually count on some Canadians and Americans to join in, especially if the sun was smiling on our game. One Sunday, in fact, we had the agent of the former professional tennis player, Mikael Pernfors, who happened to be at Wimbledon that week.

Eventually we had a regular group of about 15 who would show up regularly. A friendly visit to the pub afterwards helped.

But, oh, the things we had to endure. Hyde Park is huge and there is enough room for everyone, but American football teams would run through our game. Others would purposely saunter across the field, defying us to hit them with a ball. The most unusual lot was the bicycle polo players.

Eventually it became very serious. Unfortunately, I wasn’t there to witness the event, but the police came and told us we couldn’t play. They played the same trick on a banking softball league, populated by Americans wanting to enjoy a game. The pen, indeed, became mightier than the sword. A nasty article in the Wall Street Journal, no less, corrected the situation. The parks department decided we could rent the pitch, as a field is called in England.

Even though we paid for our fields, that didn’t stop all the aforementioned from stampeding through our area like cattle. A few well-placed pop flies usually smartened them up. Producing the permit that said we had rented the space seemed to have no effect.

From this group of rag-tag players, literally grabbed as they walked by our game, came a team that became the Great Britain mixed slow pitch finalists two years later. I was very proud of my team. More than half of them had never played the game before. We lost 4-3 against a team of Americans and Canadians that included some ringers. We faced some very good players we had never seen before.

What pleased me most was how we started very small. That puff of hope of having a team grew into something in front of my eyes.

The story has a happy ending. Although I returned to Canada the next year, the same group of players, plus a few additions, won the Great Britain mixed slow pitch championship.